Savior Complex
by ephemereal
Summary: For the first time in his life, he feels no urge to help. PostReckoning oneshot.


_**Author's Note: First SV fic. I don't make excuses, but keep that in mind. **_

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_**Savior Complex**_

"I thought maybe your feet froze solid into the ground." Her back is to Clark as he makes his way into the kitchen, not bothering to catch the door. It slams satisfyingly.

"Sorry," he practically spits at her, surprised by his own bitterness. Confusion and shame are nothing new to him, but this numbness…it's colder even than the ice outside. "Hate to disappoint."

"You, Clark? Oh, no, you're never a disappointment. Always in the right place at the right time." Lois shrugs. "Just swoop in and save the day." She glances over her shoulder and winces a little as the edge of the knife in her hands catches the edge of a nail. Quickly, she looks back into the sink, her hands still furiously peeling potatoes. She has not stood still in the past twenty-four hours, he thinks. Meanwhile, he's been stuck in limbo.

"You know we don't really need those," says Clark. It is an extraneous detail, but those seem to be all he is able to focus on now. "There's plenty of food." He gestures to the table, which is groaning under the weight of various food items brought over by concerned neighbors. He feels the slightest twinge of something at the way her face falls; he isn't so much upset with her as jealous. He wants to feel the anger too.

"I just thought I could try and help out. I told your mom I could stay with you for the week, help out around the farm."

Clark snorts, but there is no humor in it. The bitterness is the only emotion he's got left. "Lois Lane, volunteering to muck out stalls? The world is ending after all."

"Oh, well, better go save it, Clark, since you're the only one who can." Her eyes flash dangerously as she struggles to lift the pot of potatoes out of the sink. The side clinks up against the running faucet, and water squirts everywhere. Clark stands and watches, for the first time in his life feeling no urge to help. Lois sneers at him, and sloshes the pot over to the stove, plunking it down and wringing the life out of a dishtowel.

"What're you waiting for? Savior complex not working today?" She levels her eyes with his, and not for the first time he thinks she knows more than she should. "You've met your match, Clark. You can't save yourself alone."

"Lois…" As much as he doesn't want to care, something about the things she is saying is starting to trip the alarm in the back of his mind. She gives him a look, and the quirk of her eyebrow tells him she's bluffing. Clark lets out a breath, thinking he doesn't have the energy to deal with her today. For the first time in his life, he doesn't have the energy to think about anyone but himself.

"Quit eyeballing me, Smallville. Everyone knows you love playing hero." Lois drops her gaze for a moment, her face softening ever so slightly. "I understand, Clark. Just keep in mind you're not the only one who's hurting here.

"Oh, right. You ran your campaign and now you don't get to reap the benefits. I'm so sorry." It's nasty and he knows it. The words just come out somehow, stinging in his throat. Inside, something snaps. He is filled with a new power, the power to hurt.

"Clark, listen to yourself!" The edge has begun to go out of her voice. She is losing her grip on the sarcasm she thrusts in front of herself like a shield, dangerously close to actual emotion. "You don't talk like this."

"Funny how everyone seems to know more about me than I do." Clark fixes her with a hard stare, willing the twinge of sympathy beginning in the pit of his stomach to subside. He likes this new energy, the coldness of it. It is exhilarating.

For a moment Lois just looks at him, searching for something to say. Clark tries to come up with something else, something that will silence her, but finds that he can't speak. He is choking on something venomous in the back of his own throat. Stuck between anger and conscience. A loud rattle behind him makes them both jump, breaking the spell.

"Shit!" Lois whirls around to face the pot of potatoes, which is now boiling over on the stove, spitting sizzling water everywhere. She attempts to grab it, and jumps back, hissing and waving burned fingers.

Without thinking, Clark makes a dive for the pot and scoops it off the burner, sloshing water all over the front of his shirt. Lois gasps and jumps back as he dumps the whole mess onto the counter and hurries to turn off the burner. The smell of something burning and the steam rising from the pot give the kitchen the sudden ambiance of a war zone.

"Clark, oh my god!" Lois grabs his hands, wrenching them away from his chest and examining his skin. Clark is painfully aware of how normal his hands look. Wet, yes, but utterly unharmed by the boiling water. She starts to lift the hem of his shirt, but he wrenches away, panic eclipsing all other emotions.

"You…how did you…that was boiling water!" Her eyebrows seem in jeopardy of vanishing into her hairline.

Clark shrugs, forcing on a look of confusion. "Um…I don't know. I guess it must've cooled down pretty quick after you pushed it off the burner." He looks at his hands. "Tough skin?"

Lois narrows her eyes at him, then shakes her head. The pot now sits dribbling benignly all over the counter. "I told you I can't cook. Should've stuck to the peanut butter."

Clark smiles just a little, momentarily forgetting what's just happened and who it is he's laughing at.

"At least I made you laugh." Lois rolls her eyes and grabs a towel, snapping it at Clark as she walks by. "So much for helping out with dinner. Think I just made it worse."

Clark grabs the pot and puts it back on the burner, turning the setting to low this time. He turns around and watches as Lois mops up the water. She gives him one more odd look, then shakes her head. He leans against the stove, breathing in the heat. The darkness is gone now, melted by adrenaline and necessity.

"Saved by Lois Lane's cooking skills," he mutters, thinking it sounds more like something she should be saying. He claps a hand on the lid of the pot as it begins to rattle again, thinking that if he is able to concentrate on the distractions of everyday life, just maybe the darkness will stay at bay.


End file.
